


You're Welcome

by amutemockingjay



Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon), Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Gen, Heather Chandler has met her match, Louise will not put up with the Heathers, Revenge, some Louise/Logan if you squint, unholiest of crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8707333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amutemockingjay/pseuds/amutemockingjay
Summary: If Louise Belcher could, she would unseat Heather Chandler in a heartbeat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> And here I am, sinking to even lower levels of trash with this unholy crossover. Shout out to Tyler for giving me the idea for a "brownie surprise."

Louise Belcher had a low tolerance for bullshit. Which is why she had no idea how she could tolerate the Heathers for three years already. Yet here she was, the beginning of junior year, another year dominated by Heather Chandler and that goddamn red scrunchie Louise wanted to rip out of her head. Louise existed on the outskirts of the social hierarchy of Westerberg High, and she preferred for it to be that way. Summers spent long and busy with her dad’s restaurant. Kids from school showed up on a fairly regular basis but nobody noticed her. She served them their burgers and fries and sent them on their merry way.

But if she could…

If she could, she’d unseat Heather Chandler in a heartbeat. Not out of any sense of righteousness of the downtrodden—as far as Louise was concerned, high school was inherently Machiavellian—but just because they presented a challenge. A challenge she could hardly resist. But so far, she was out of ideas. She sat at the counter of Bob’s Burgers, drumming her fingers on the worn Formica.

“Louise, I need you to bus tables.” Her dad gave her a look over the grill.

“Sure,” she said, heading to clean up the mess.

That was when it happened, her hands full of dirty dishes. The bell at the front of the restaurant chimed. New customers. Louise dumped the dishes in the sink and peered over the order window to see who it was. And promptly fell over.

The Heathers. All three of them. Heather Chandler in the front, as always, flanked by Heather McNamara and Heather Duke. Louise rushed out to the front.

“Welcome to Bob’s Burgers. My name is Louise and I’ll be your server today. What can I get you?” Her tone was nothing short of begrudging.

“How many calories are in a cheeseburger?” Heather Duke twirled a strand of her hair around her finger.

“Uh, I don’t know. It’s a cheeseburger.”

“I know that. I just need to know how many calories are in it.”

“Like it even makes a difference,” Heather McNamara said. “If you’re just going to—“

Heather Chandler held up her hand. “Shut up, Heather!”

“Sorry, Heather.”

Heather Chandler turned her attention to Louise. “Three cheeseburgers.”

“Coming right up.”

Louise turned around and was about to head to the kitchen when she could feel eyes on her back. Three pairs to be exact, accompanied by whispering and giggles. Louise curled her hand into a fist, her nails digging into her palm. She didn’t need the opinions of these lowlifes to feel good about herself. She wasn’t Tina, desperately courting the predecessors to the Heathers—Tammy and Jocelyn.

“You. Turn around.” Louise did, though she wanted badly not to.

Heather Chandler crooked her finger towards Louise. “Come here.”

“What do you want, Heather?” Louise crossed her arms over her chest.

“Turn around for me. Slowly.”

“Why should I?”

Heather Chandler narrowed her eyes at Louise. “You don’t give a fuck about any of this, do you?”

“You should,” Heather Duke said.

“Shut up, Heather!” Heather Chandler tapped one finger on her chin, studying Louise.

“Sorry, Heather.”

“You have potential,” Heather Chandler looked at McNamara and Duke for confirmation; the soulless clones nodded in agreement.

“I didn’t realize that the Heathers were taking applications.”

“We don’t,” Chandler said shortly. “But occasionally our largesse extends to the greater Westerberg population.”

“Largesse. Nice. Didn’t know you actually had a brain underneath that red scrunchie.”

“Order’s up!” Bob pushed the three burgers out the grill window.

Louise grabbed the plates and returned to the Heathers table. She began to walk away.

“Wait!” Chandler beckoned towards Louise again. “Come. Sit with us. Have a fry.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“I said, sit with us.”

Louise reluctantly took a seat.

“So, who are you, again?”

Louise looked at them. She vowed to herself years ago that she should would never sell her soul—unless it was for one corn chip. But this could be the opportunity she was looking for. What better chance to take the Heathers down a few levels than to do so from the inside?

“Louise,” she said. “Louise Belcher.”

“And your dad owns this place?” Chandler dipped a fry in mustard. Louise looked on in disgust.

“This is the best burger I’ve ever had. I don’t even want to purge it back up,” Duke said.

“Shut up, Heather, I’m talking to Louise.” Chandler picked up her burger and put it back down again.

“Sorry, Heather.”

Chandler waved away Duke’s apology. “I mean, we’re not paying for these burgers, are we, girls?”

Louise swallowed the lump in her throat. “Of course not.”

“Excellent. I host a sleepover every Friday night. My place. You’ll be there, right?”

Louise blinked. Holy shit. The Heathers, for some inexplicable reason, had invited her somewhere. This was huge. She didn’t care about being popular—when had she ever—but this brought revenge to a whole new level.

_Think Louise, think. There’s got to be some way to ruin them. You’ll figure it out._

She grinned. “I’ll see you there, Heather.”

* * *

 

“It’s my dream come true!” Linda sang across the Belcher living room. “My little Louise, going to a sleepover. Hanging out with the most popular girls in school!”

Louise tugged on her ears. “Ugh, Mom, really it’s no big deal.”

“It’s a very big deal. My Louise, making friends.”

“Look, I’m going to be late.” Louise’s fingers itched for the car keys.

“Okay, let’s go. I’ll drop you off, sweetie.”

“Drop me off?” Louise winced. “Can’t I just drive?”

“Your father needs the car in the morning, so no.”

Louise couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating than being dropped off at Heather Chandler’s McMansion by her mother. But biking would be equally as humiliating. “Fine. I’ll give you the directions.”

She made her mother park a block away from Heather’s house. That was bearable, at least. Louise walked in the crisp fall wind, head down, tugging on the ends of her bunny ears.

Heather Chandler’s house was huge. A tasteful Victorian on a block of other tasteful Victorians, the kind with a turret and a widow’s walk and delicate scrollwork above the front door. She rang the bell.

“Louise!”

Heather Chandler, flanked by Duke and McNamara—did they ever separate—answered the door in a silk teddy. Instantly, Louise was ashamed of her Kuchi Kopi pajamas. Chandler pressed a brief kiss to her cheek. She smelled like expensive perfume.

Louise took a breath. Reminded herself that this was going to be fun. Relatively speaking. Enduring a girly sleepover would be torture, that much was true, but the end result had to be worth it. Had to be.

“Come in on.” Chandler beckoned her forward.

Heather Duke hiccupped slightly. “We’re drinking vodka lemonades.”

Louise stepped into the threshold of the Chandler home, and sent a fervent prayer to whatever God was listening that she would be delivered from this hell.

* * *

 

“I think we’re going to have to get rid of these.” McNamara touched Louise’s beloved ears. Louise slapped her hand away instantly, wishing she could smack her across the face.

“Problem, Louise?” Chandler swirled some of her drink around in her crystal glass. Her voice was low and dangerous.

“None,” she replied, her voice a higher octave.

“Good. Wouldn’t want to have you blacklisted when we’ve only just started having fun.” Chandler gave her a deadly smile.

“I mean,” Louise pulled off her ears with trembling hands. This had better be worth it. God, it had better be worth it.  “I’ll take care of it myself.” She placed the ears in her pack. She felt naked without them on, and resisted the urge to put on her hoodie.

“You have nice hair,” Duke said. She reached for a brush. “Maybe if we did some French braids—“

“No braids,” Louise choked out. The vodka lemonade she’d had was making her head swim.

“Fine.” Duke pouted.

Chandler put down her drink on her nightstand. “Let’s give her some beachy waves. It’d suit her jawline.”

“This better be worth it,” Louise muttered under her breath as McNamara grabbed a brush.

“What was that, Louise?” Chandler appeared to have the psychic ability to read Louise’s thoughts.

“Nothing,” she said as McNamara yanked at her tangles. “Ouch! Fuck!”

“Not my fault your hair is like a scarecrow.”

“Yo, yo, yo!” Male voices broke through the air. Duke rushed towards the open window.

“It’s the boys!” She shrieked, bouncing up and down like a little kid.

“Grow up, Heather,” Chandler snapped.

“Sorry, Heather.”

“Heathers!” The same male voices.

Heather Chandler took purposeful strides towards the window, beckoning McNamara and Duke. She gave a pointed look at Louise.

“Louise!”

“You mean me?”

“No, I mean your aborted twin sister. Yes, you.”

Louise hurried over to the window, and peered out. Two brunettes and a blonde; she couldn’t make out the details but she assumed they were football players. Not her type, but she had decided long ago that she didn’t have a type. She wasn’t Tina, after all.

“Heathers!” One of them called drunkenly.

“And other chick, whoever you are,” the other added.

Duke stood on the tips of her toes like a ballerina. “We should go down there.”

“Not a half bad idea,” Chandler mused. Louise raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was the first time she had heard Chandler actually agree with one of her demon minions. “Let’s go.”

On the way out, Louise snagged her bunny ears, slipping them back on. It felt good, to defy Chandler—even better with her ears on.

She didn’t know these boys in the front—they were wearing letterman jackets and passing a flask back and forth. But as she approached the car, she recognized the blonde in the backseat.

“Oh, great,” she said. “It’s you.”

He snapped his gum. “Well, if it isn’t Four Ears.”

“Wait.” McNamara pointed at Louise and Logan. “You two know each other?”

“Unfortunately,” they both said at the same time.

“I hate you,” Louise hissed under her breath.

“I hate you more,” he hissed back.

Louise could feel a pair of eyes on her. Chandler, of course. Taking in her every move. Waiting. Evaluating.

“So, uh, are you coming or not, Heathers?” The taller one—Louise thought his name was Ram—took a long sip from the flask.

“Yeah,” Chandler said easily. “We’re in.”

* * *

 

Sitting in a cemetery at midnight passing a flask around and watching the Heathers flirt with Ram and Kurt was not Louise’s idea of a good time. Her head was spinning slightly, but she pretended to sip more than she really did. She could take her liquor like a man, but she wanted her wits about her as she plotted revenge.

She was still not sure what she was going to do about the whole Heathers thing. If this was being popular, leave her out of it. She perched on the edge of a gravestone, staring down at her Mary-Janes.

“Hey, Four Ears.” Logan hip checked her. “Scoot over.”

“You’re coordinated for someone who hangs around with these dead asses.”

“Designated driver.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. You’re not being a complete dick for once.”

He grinned. “I have my moments.”

“They’re few and far between.”

“Hey, never said I was perfect.”

Louise laughed. “You, perfect? Please.”

She could hear the Heathers insipid laughter coming from the car, and cringed.

“Why do you hang around them, if you hate them so much?” Logan asked, without a trace of irony in his voice.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I don’t want to be on the football team; my mom makes me do all that crap.”

Louise was secretly grateful that her mother had never pushed the Belcher kids to do anything they didn’t want to do. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to be popular, but we all have to make our sacrifices, don’t we?”

“Seriously, Louise.” He placed his hand on top of hers. She snatched her hand away as if it had been burned. Honestly, it felt like it had been, with the warmth of his skin on hers. “You can do better than this.”

“What if I already am?”

“What?”

She shook her head. “Never mind.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Louise staring at the gravestones that littered the grassy lawn. Tried to ignore the fact that she longed to be closer to Logan. He was a jerk; she had known him since childhood. She turned, only to catch Logan staring at her.

“What?” She snapped.

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Whatever.”

She felt a wave of tiredness overcome her. She just wanted to be back home, in her own bed, away from the Heathers and all their bullshit. She found herself leaning against Logan. He put his arm around her.

“Are we actually having a moment?” He asked, in mock seriousness.

Louise stifled a yawn. “Shut the fuck up, Bush, before I sucker punch you in the gut.”

“Wow. Romantic.”

“I still hate you.”

“Got that memo, thanks.”

“LOUISE!” She could hear Heather Chandler’s voice shriek through the darkness. Louise jumped down from the gravestone.

“Demon Queen calls,” she said to Logan.

“Better answer her before you lose your head,” he replied. “Or your ears.”

The Heathers were sprawled, in various state of drunkenness in the car. Chandler’s eyes were glassy; Duke was half-asleep, and McNamara was giggling uncontrollably.

Upon seeing Louise, Chandler sat up. “I thought I told you to stop wearing those.” She pointed to Louise’s ears.

“Did you?” Louise asked, all too innocently.

“Watch it.” Chandler narrowed her eyes. “You know what? I’m confiscating these.” She reached over and plucked the ears off Louise’s head.

Without thinking twice, Louise lunged for Chandler. It was a scrappy fight as best; Heather didn’t know how to throw a punch, and Louise had her perfect blonde curls by the roots.

“Like hell you are!” Louise roared.

She tried for them, but to no avail. She ducked Candler’s perfectly manicured nails, aimed for her eyes. Louise grabbed a hold of her signature red scrunchie and held it aloft.

“You take something of mine, Heather, and I take something of yours.”

With a shriek, Chandler reached for Louise’s throat.

“Hot!” Ram said, grinning like an idiot.

“Take off your shirts!” Kurt said, between pawing at McNamara.

Louise slipped the red scrunchie around her wrist for safekeeping, and reached again for her ears, with no successful.

“Enough!” Duke reached between Chandler and Louise.

“Shut up, Heather!” Chandler snapped.

“Sorry, Heather.”

Chandler looked like hell, hair askew, eyes bloodshot—she was practically foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. “You’re done, Louise Belcher,” she hissed. “Completely fucking done. Now get out of here before I commit a murder.”

“Not if I commit one first,” Louise replied.

But she knew when she fled through the graveyard, far too naked without her ears, that this wasn’t over. Far from it. If anything, taking down Chandler became less of a challenge for fun and something much, much more personal.

“You’ll be sorry you screwed with Louise Belcher.”

* * *

 

First, a trip to the drugstore. Then digging through the kitchen for the rest of the supplies. She would get Heather Chandler back, she was certain of it.

“What are you doing, sweetie?” Linda entered the kitchen. “Smells good.”

“Oh, just baking,” Louise said, stirring the batter furiously.

“Let Mama have some.” Linda reached for the batter, and Louise snatched it away.

“Trust me, Mom, you don’t want this.”

“Why not?”

“You just don’t.”

Louise began pouring the batter into a baking pan. Linda settled into a chair next to the kitchen table.

“How’d the sleepover go?”

“No offense, Mom, but now is not the time for a mother-daughter heart to heart.”

Linda sighed and got up, muttering something about teenagers. Louise slipped the brownies into the oven, and grinned.

“Heather Chandler, be prepared to taken down a few notches.”

* * *

 

It was a long walk to Heather Chandler’s house, but she didn’t have the car. Her dad needed it, and she didn’t want to explain to her mother exactly what had gone down. At least she was a fast runner. She took a breath as she walked up the front steps of the Chandlers’ porch and rang the bell.

A blonde woman answered the door. “Hello?”

Louise put on her most innocent look. “Hi Mrs. Chandler, is Heather home?”

“Of course! Heather, one of your little friends is here!”  Mrs. Chandler departed.

Louise was pleased to note that she had given Chandler a black  eye.

“Purple’s not your best color, Heather,” she said casually. “Might want to stick to red.”

“The fuck do you want?”

Louise held out the plate of brownies. “To say I was sorry, of course. I made you something. And of course, to return this.” She placed the red scrunchie on top of the brownies.

“I’m not giving your ears back.”

“That’s fine.” Louise tried to keep the rage out of her voice.

“And you can forget about ever sitting with us again.”

“Fair enough.” Louise turned around and left. “It was nice knowing you, Chandler.”

“I can’t say the same, Belcher.”

* * *

 

When she got to school on Monday, the hallway was buzzing with whispered gossip.

“Did you hear? Heather Chandler had to have her stomach pumped.”

“I heard someone put laxatives in something she ate.”

Louise allowed herself a secret grin—she wished she could take credit for it, but she didn’t dare. Not yet, at least. She adjusted her backpack and headed to her locker, humming to herself as she opened it. She was assaulted by pink fleece, and her heart began to beat faster. It was her ears, her very ears, the ones she had thought she would never see again. She pulled them close to her heart and held on tight. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground, and as Louise put her ears back on, she scanned it.

A neat cursive hand that could only belong to one person.

_Well played, Belcher. Well played._


End file.
